Chapter 10: Have Dinner Together

“Mr. Pruitt, we take orders from Elva. She told us to prepare her room! We simply obeyed. We knew nothing!”

Winford was indifferent to his previous wives, and Glenda favored Elva. The servants, hoping to curry favor, discarded Ophelia’s belongings. They hadn't anticipated the consequences. Winford’s usual apathy made their clumsy excuses seem laughable. He didn't even glance at them. Tilting his head, he told Graham, “Ask Bertha to handle them.” Graham nodded. The servants, realizing their predicament, were filled with regret.

Ophelia, in contrast, approached calmly, taking Graham’s place pushing Winford’s wheelchair. “Where were you today?” she asked.

Alfred interjected, “Mr. Pruitt’s business is confidential. Mrs. Pruitt, it’s best you avoid it.” His poor opinion of Ophelia stemmed from the Elva incident.

Ophelia, suppressing her eye roll, stated, “So, you acknowledge I’m Winford’s wife? Who grants you the right to interrupt?”

“You…”

“Enough,” Winford said coldly, his warning clear.

Alfred fell silent. Ophelia snorted triumphantly. Alfred’s face fell, but she disregarded him, focusing on Winford. He, however, simply said, “Return to your duties. Graham can wheel me to the study. I have work.” His tone was patient and gentle, yet his decision was unwavering.

Watching Graham resume pushing the wheelchair, Ophelia felt disheartened, realizing she hadn't fully gained Winford’s trust. She dared not press further, fearing his suspicion. She decided to wait. She had time; the person who would betray him and cost him his leg hadn't appeared yet.

But… as Winford approached the elevator, she caught up.

“Honey…”

The wheelchair stopped. He turned. “What is it?”

“Can we have dinner together?” Her eyes shone with anticipation; her voice was playfully seductive. She loathed eating alone.

Winford considered, then nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Don’t go back on your word!” she beamed.

His stern expression softened slightly. “I won’t.”

Watching him enter the elevator, Ophelia briskly ascended. Her bedroom was soon restored, thanks to Winford’s instructions. Upstairs, she encountered Elva, carrying belongings and a sullen expression. Elva sneered, but Ophelia spoke first, calmly stating, “Think before you speak. If I’m upset, I’ll have you dismissed. I’m Winford’s wife, you’re a maid’s daughter.”

Elva sputtered, “You…”

“You what? Move. You’re obstructing me. Didn’t Bertha teach you manners?”

Elva fumed, but Ophelia ignored her, entering her bedroom. She heard Elva’s spiteful voice, “You think Mr. Pruitt cares? I’ll wait for your downfall. Psychiatric hospital or ambulance?”

Ophelia squinted. Elva, believing her words stung, quickly departed, feeling smug. Ophelia returned to her room, thoughtful.

Winford had three previous wives: one deceased, one insane, and one returned to her family before reaching Sunset Vista. This mirrored her past and present lives. She still didn't know what befell the first two. Rumors painted Winford as a dangerous man. But she didn’t believe it. He wasn’t like that.

Recalling the truth she learned before her death, a bitter ache filled her heart. She opened her suitcase, setting aside items from the Greene’s house. She retrieved a locked box, entered the password, and removed the medical notes.

These weren't only Harriet's notes; they contained years of lost prescriptions, attracting much attention. Two copies existed: hers and one at her grandfather’s. Harriet had intended him to safeguard Ophelia's assets, including the Sapphire Botanical Institute, which Ophelia had always desired—assets she never received in her past life.

Examining the notebook, she spotted a prescription and recalled Clinton Weaver, her former teacher. His son, born with an incurable illness, had died despite Clinton’s efforts, a devastating loss. The prescription in Harriet's notes could have saved him, a fact that became Clinton's deepest regret.

Ophelia felt a surge of gratitude for her rebirth. She photographed the prescription, then hesitated—she lacked Clinton’s number. She’d met him on a medical forum in her past life. While it wasn’t time for their meeting in this life, she guessed his account existed.

She searched the forum, registered, and found his account! She paused before sending the photo; it seemed too obvious.

Instead, she photographed two other prescriptions and sent them to Clinton, requesting his expertise. His account was renowned; her inquiry wouldn't seem suspicious.

Setting down her phone, she was about to shower when messages flooded in. C.W. texted, “Where did you get those prescriptions?” Then, “Could we meet?”

Meanwhile, Clinton clutched his phone, eagerly awaiting Ophelia’s reply, ignoring his wife’s pleas to eat. His wife was bewildered. “Clinton, what’s wrong?”

“Chad can be saved!” Clinton exclaimed. “You don’t need to prepare those things!”

His wife’s eyes widened. “Really?” They had been making funeral arrangements for their son, Chad.

Ophelia, after considering, declined Clinton’s meeting request. She had much to do, but she was confident she'd eventually become his student through her own merit.